She's Electric
by Tory Tells All
Summary: And god only knows how I've missed her, On the palm of her hand is a blister, And I need more time.
1. Doctor, Doctor

He draws smoke back into his lungs. Exhales a thin stream. Watches it curl and waver. The breeze creeping in through the pub doors drags it away. He does it again. And again. People are getting increasingly more antsy around him. He sits in his designated corner and smokes. Breathes in. Holds. Breathes out. Flicks the ash. Watches the tip smolder. Sips from his beer. Ultimately, he can't believe this is what his life has become.

At 28, this was hardly what he had imagined his life would amount to. I mean, it wasn't like he had unrealistic dreams and aspirations, but he did expect that he'd be doing something more than making 8 an hour ripping ticket stubs and getting puked on by amateurs that couldn't handle their alcohol intake.

'Maybe it would have been different if she hadn't died' he'd often pondered, letting the thought evaporate just as quickly as it came . Thoughts like that, he found, were far too painful for the living.

"Don't get drunk tonight Rich," he whispers to himself. He needs to be able to hold it together tonight. The line to get into the show is almost a mile long and its only 9 pm. He can see it from where he is seated, behind a small table in the corner, ripping tickets, one after another after another. It's a repetitive string of whatever and Rich wonders why he even bothers showing up for work at all.

"Enjoy the show" he mutters to one person after the other.

He turns to look behind him, and through the entrance, he can see the thrashing bodies, smell the sweat, and hear the music pounding against his skull. Someone notices he is distracted and tries to slip through without a ticket, a young kid of about 15, but Rich shoves him back. He receives the finger in return. Rich rolls his eyes, taking a swig of the beer stored under the table. It's a little stale but it does the trick, taking off some of the edge. First hour of his shift and he was already getting slide bys. His boss, John, notices this too and is quick to remark.

"Stay focused Rich" he yells from the other side of the room in a heavy Scottish accent, partially distracted himself by a well-endowed blonde Rich assumes is trying to get her way into the show on aesthetics alone.

It was a pretty typical scene for a Friday night at The Linx, and as much as Rich hated the gig, he knew he was lucky. He had gotten the job by sheer chance. He hadn't known the right people; he didn't make the right friends. He was simply in the right place at the right time. That place being a shitty little record store near his university, the time being four years prior, in the heart of one of Bristol's worst winters to date. Rich had bumped into John with a "Screaming Trees" record in hand, tore him to pieces for it, and then schooled him for about 5 hours on better listening alternatives over coffee and spliff. John knew Rich was more or less a douche, albeit an intelligent douche, and Rich knew john was spineless yet opportunistic, and so a truce was formed. John offered Rich the job almost immediately, and even though It was a less than decent under the table deal , it paid just enough to support Rich's vices - records, booze, and spliff – so he couldn't really complain. For the most part, he enjoyed the people watching, didn't mind the run down scenery, and it gave him something to do. In short, for a six hour block every night, it took his mind off of her.

The 'her' in question was his college sweet heart, the acclaimed love of his then life, and the one that inevitably got away. It wasn't her fault though. Life has a way of changing when you least expect it. It also has a way of ending. He didn't like to think about that part though. It wasn't how he wanted to remember her. The Grace he knew, the Grace he _loved… _laughed and danced and smiled and cared. She had plans. She was going to soak up everything life had to offer. Dance her way to the surface of everyone's hearts. She was going to be remembered for decades to come for her beauty, elegance, and spirit.

She wasn't supposed to be in the car that day. The day it all came toppling down. The day he replayed in his head every day for ten fucking years. He had nightmares about it almost every night. Her tiny lifeless body on the pavement and the stand still that came after. If he gave any stock to religion, he would have sworn that was the type of horror hell was laced with.

The worst part was, it was all a fluke. One big giant catastrophic fluke that none of them could ever forget.

Someone waves their hand in front of his face, bringing him back to his current reality, and he rips their ticket in annoyance.

"Pay attention next time" the guy remarks.

"Whatever"

Rich shrugs it off, too distracted by his growing buzz and train of thought to give a shit about some posh asshole in a sports coat. He watches the guy force his way through a pack of people, only to get thrown to the ground by a thrasher twice his size. This was the kind of thing that happened at The Linx if you fucked around with the wrong people. Rich smirked. Karma was his biggest enemy and greatest ally these days.

And that's when he spotted her. It was by accident really, and at first, he would have sworn his eyes were playing tricks on him. I mean, it wouldn't have been the first time he had spotted her in a crowd of people. The dainty, delicate figure of the girl he had loved and lost. Was he wasted already? He blinked hard to make sure he wasn't seeing things, blinked again to make sure it wasn't the booze, and when he couldn't deny what he was seeing any longer, he scrambled to his feet, knocking down the half empty bottles of beer beneath him and stumbling against couples pressed against the back walls of the pub. He says his "sorry's" and "excuse me's", all while keeping his main focus on the tiny figure pushing her way through the crowd and towards the front of the stage.

He was breaking the rules. He left his station. He'd probably be fired the second John noticed he was gone. But it didn't matter. In that moment, all that mattered was her. Reason was out the window, it had left a long time ago; and even though he knew she was dead, that she was nothing more than a pile of bones beneath the earth by now, there was always a small part of him that wanted to believe that it wasn't true. That it was all just one big misunderstanding.

The last time he saw her, he was eighteen, and she was a lifeless figure in a hospital bed, sustained by the same machine that he would later blame for killing her. That's what he had thought. That's what they all had thought. But maybe they were all wrong. Maybe Grace had really lived. Maybe she had started fresh somewhere, leaving them all in her traumatizing past. Maybe she really was too good for all of them and Bristol after all.

He's within reach of her now, separated by only a few gyrating bodies, and it takes everything in him not to grab her and turn her around. To look her in the eye and see the truth for what it is himself. But he doesn't have to, because he knows this is Grace. He's sure of it. Dead or alive, he could recognize her anywhere.

They are inches away from each other now, and although he still can't see her face, he can hear her voice – barley a murmur under the music. She's talking to two girls whose faces he can't see either and motioning towards the door. He can't tell what she's saying, but hearing her voice is enough. He can't control himself anymore. He closes the gap between them and grabs her dainty waist, spinning her around to face him in one swift motion.

And for the first time in 10 years, he's looking her in the eyes and she's real – she's so real that it hurts and Rich doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. Because this is Grace. Grace who took his virginity and taught him how to dance and love and care. Grace who died in a car accident at seventeen, but was here now, alive and breathing – and staring at him wide eyed and bewildered. It didn't make sense, but he didn't quite care.

It was her, except, it wasn't. There were things about her that were so insanely different; inconsistencies he didn't even think time could be responsible for changing. And then, there was the fact that she was looking at him like he was a complete and total stranger. Who was this girl, why did she look like Grace, smell like Grace, and sound like Grace, yet look at him with not even the tiniest bit of recognition? The two girls with her stared wide eyed and partially disgusted by the whole ordeal. One of them, the more bitchy of the two, even told him to "back the fuck off", but as far as Rich was concerned, they could both go to hell.

These weren't the kind of girls the Grace he knew would have given the time of day. They made Mini look like Mother Teresa and had the circumstances been different, Rich would have told them so. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was her.

"Grace" her name spills from his mouth, but that's all he can manage, because his tongue feels dry and heavy and before he knows it, he's out like the lights, bringing her crashing right down with him.


	2. Dancing with a Stranger

**Hi, I hoped you guys enjoyed chapter one. Feedback is greatly appreciated and really helps inspire me to continue writing. Also, I listened to the song "Torn" By Natalie Imbruglia on repeat while writing this chapter. Enjoy! x**

* * *

Rich was never good with words. In fact, words bothered him, and for the most part, he couldn't understand why they were necessary. Serious conversations came with an intensity he didn't much care for, and he certainly didn't enjoy small talk. He preferred sound. Sound was something he could understand. Bass and drums and music so loud it felt like his ear drums were going to explode. He liked feeling trapped by it, lived for the urge he got whenever he heard a really good album with more noise than words, and he hated when it would eventually, inevitably, like everything else in his life - end.

But when he finally came too, sprawled out in a back corner with a melting ice pack on his forehead, he fully expected noise, but all he heard was silence. It was a rarity at The Linx, especially on a Friday night. The only time it was ever this quiet was right before open or close and – shit – Rich looked at his watch, brushing the mask of sweat drenched hair away from his face. It was just pass 1 a.m. meaning he had been out cold for four hours, which was basically his entire shift.

He looked around the now half empty pub but couldn't spot John anywhere. Rich figured he had probably retired to the back for a quickie with some dazed Tori Amos type who assumed he was a part of whatever terrible band was playing that night, a conclusion jumped to on the basis of Johns boyishly good looks alone. If this was the case, as it typically was, then Rich was in the clear. John was always more forgiving with a little fuel in his tank, a fact Rich had come to learn on more than one occasion.

But it wasn't John's absence that bothered Rich. It was hers. It wasn't like he expected her to be there when he woke up, but part of him couldn't help but feel disheartened that she wasn't. There was also, of course, the issue of whether or not it had all been real. He touched the tender spot on his face and winched. It certainly felt real.

He sat up, and that's when he noticed the note. He had been acting as sort of a human place holder for it, and probably would of missed it had he stood up to quick, but there it was. A note written in precise cursive handwriting only she could pull off.

'_I don't know who you are'_ it read

'_But I feel like I should'_

Rich closed his eyes and held his breath before reading the last part. He had to make sure it was real, and that when he opened his eyes, it wouldn't all disappear. He patted his coat pocket for his cigarettes, only to turn up empty handed. Fuck. He knew he had to finish reading it. It was every hope and dream he had ever had rolled into one tiny piece of paper and he wasn't quite ready to be disappointed.

He opened his eyes.

'_Meet me for coffee when you come to'_ the note finished.

He stood, stuffing the tiny piece of paper in his coat pocket and was out the pub in seconds, barley missing Johns arrival from the back of the Pub.

"Oi!" he yelled, but Rich didn't have time to explain.

He made a note to self to apologize to him later, for the sake of keeping his job, and quickly made his way to the only place he knew she would be.

There was an address included in the note, of course, but he didn't need it. He knew where to go.

* * *

She sat and stirred her lukewarm coffee. It was her third cup of the night. She had been sitting in this booth now for hours. It was her favorite place in Bristol, a tiny little café situated right where a café should never be. And that's why she liked it. It was small and out of place and as morbid as it was, she could relate.

She had asked Anna and Lea if they wanted to stay, but they had opted out. They couldn't understand why Grace was staying out to meet some creepy guy who skeezed on her in a pub, and quite frankly, Grace didn't know why either. Maybe it was because he felt familiar, too familiar, or maybe it was just because it felt like the right thing to do. Grace, if nothing else, was accustomed to doing the right thing.

When he entered the café, she spotted him before he spotted her. He was wearing a torn jean jacket and had his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans. He looked anxious, crazed even, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. This made Grace smile. When he finally spotted her, he stopped in his tracks. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. She stood, waving him towards her, as if to say it was okay to come closer, but it was as though he was seeing a ghost. Grace had never had anyone look at her like that before, and it intrigued her just as much as it made her uncomfortable.

Finally, he snapped out his trance, hesitantly taking a seat on the other side of the booth. He didn't say anything at first. In fact, he didn't say anything for a while.

She examined the growing bruise on the side of his face. Did he know that he had been hit? It had all happened so fast. Him grabbing her, looking at her in that indecisive way, and Alec, from his spot on the stage, jumping down to punch him in the face. He had fallen to the floor almost instantly, dragging Grace down with him. And even though she felt bad, she didn't, like everything else, exactly pertain to know why.

She nodded towards the window, biting her bottom lip with the slightest bit of apprehension.

"My husband Alec is outside waiting in the car"

It didn't come as a surprise to Rich that she was married. At 27, she was just as much of a knock out as she had been back then, the only difference being a sense of maturity and confidence only Rich could tell was ripping at the seams. Did she know who she was? Or was she, like him, simply running away? And if that was the case – could he blame her? There were times late at night when he couldn't sleep…trapped by memories of his past with her, where he would wonder if what he was doing was any different. Running away from the past, he decided, wasn't much different than faking a death.

"I'm guessing he's who I can thank for this?" Rich finally spoke, motioning to his multi colored eye and watching her winch. She nodded.

"You can't just go grabbing strange girls in pubs" She said.

He looked at her in that way again. That indecisive particular way that gave her butterflies and made her uneasy all at the same time. She knew she had to hurry. Because was already on bad terms with her husband, and she didn't want to cause anymore of a scene. But…she couldn't bring herself to get up. To walk out the door and never see this man again.

And maybe he could tell she was anxious, distraught even, because from the other side of the booth, he grabbed her hand. It was by instinct really. It was a subtle but unexpected gesture and she didn't know why it made her want to cry. They sat like that for a few moments. Her hand on her coffee mug and his hand on hers. They didn't need to talk. Because Rich didn't like words and he knew words would only ruin things. He knew he was her past, and that she was more or less a ghost to him, but he didn't want to address it.

"Come with me" he finally managed. It was spontaneous and crazy, he knew that, but it was also the only thing that felt right.

He stood up, offering her his hand, and even though she hesitated for a moment, looking out the window at her husband parked in the distance, contemplating everything that would follow, she grabbed it, allowing him pull her up. And when he did, she stumbled, right into his lanky yet masculine frame. It felt familiar. It felt right. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole.

He grabbed her coat from the booth and slipped it over her arms, and then they ran. They ran hard and fast and they didn't stop until they were miles away from the café and Alec and the Linx and John and every other gut wrenching reality their lives would soon deliver. When they grew tired, they sat on a small park bench slightly wet from the rain and watched the sun rise. How many hours had passed?

For Rich, it felt like an entirety wrapped in the time span of a few shorts moments, and for her, the night had felt endless. The better part of her knew that what she was doing was wrong – running off with a stranger – but he didn't feel strange.

'What a pathetic existence' she thought to herself, staring at morning joggers and people walking their dogs 'finding more security in a stranger than yourself'.

For the most part, he didn't talk. He smoked. He fidgeted. And when he felt sure she wouldn't notice, he looked at her. He took in every physicality, burning her into his memory again for future reference. It wasn't that he had ever forgotten her. In fact, it was quite the contrary. He had just become accustomed to how she was then. And even though she was still the same old Grace in a lot of ways, she was different too. The way she bit her lip, that was new…and her hair, much shorter…more mature. She was beautiful, but in a different way than in her youth. She was seasoned and sexy and extremely unsure of herself. And that was when he knew he had to tell her. And there was no right combination of words. There was no easy way to say it.

"I missed you"

The words surfaced so easily that he wondered why he hadn't said them sooner. Maybe it was because he knew it would only complicate things, and that she wouldn't know what he meant, but it didn't matter.

She blinked. She pulled at the seams of her jacket. She tried her best to avoid eye contact with him. She tried to process the statement. And then, despite her better judgment – she kissed him.

It was a simple gesture fueled by passion more than logic but it was exactly what he needed. He grabbed her tiny frame, bringing her crashing into him, and kissed her with everything he had. And what he had was a lot. Ten years of lost opportunities. Ten years thinking he'd never be able to do it again. They remained like that for a while. He was lost in her and she simply wanted to remember.

"What's your name?" she finally asked, pulling away from him.

She knew she couldn't continue the façade of knowing him any longer, and she also knew she had to be leaving, but not before she knew his name. He hesitated.

"Richard" he said, cleared his throat "Rich"

"Richard" she repeated, letting his name roll off her tongue.

"I like that"

It was in that moment that Rich came to a conclusion. He'd make her remember him, even if it meant starting from the beginning.

"And yours?" he asked.

She smiled.

"Grace."


End file.
